The decapitated head consumed Ylana’s field of vision until
a pair of bare feet stepped into view, one of them trampling the flowers. The feet were smooth and unmarred by the stresses
of life, and their slender build made them appear decidedly feminine.

Long, delicate toes prodded the dead cheek, as if testing
the head for any life that might somehow linger in its decaying recesses. Then equally delicate fingers grasped the head
by the hair and, lifting it into the air, brought it level with a face that
nearly made Ylana’s heart stop: the murdered woman from the other visions,
except here alive and well.

Ylana tried to pull away from the nightmarish image, but the
vision held firm, and terrified she might never wake, she screamed, sending her
desperate pleas ringing through a world populated only by ghostly recreations
of the deceased.